The Break In
by Shiggity Shwa
Summary: All life in Scranton is turned topsy turvy after the Dunder Mifflin office is broken into over the weekend. The workers try to deal with the aftermath including cleaning up the office and redoing the inventory they finished the week before.
1. Office Turmoil

_AN: Thanks to everyone who favorited/reviewed my last story. I'm glad i can enetertain you guys at such a time of turmoil. And thanks to those who said I should write for the Office. It's what I'm in Uni for, but by the time I get out, the Office will probably be done.  
Just to let everyone know, I consider the stories that I've written (Not including Little Tuna) So The Thunderstorm, Receptionist Day, The Scare, and this one, The Break In) to be a series. So each story is a continuation of the one directly before it, along with recent aired episodes. So this story and the next will continue the same Jim and Pam storyline and etc.  
That said, please enjoy and try to forget about the strike._

The Break In

Chapter 1

Office Turmoil

Michael walked into the office, "Good morning," he greeted with a German accent, and then broke into laughter, "That's how they say 'good morning' in Germany." He continued laughing until he noticed that no one had said a word. Finally getting a real look at the office, he found it was empty.

"Guys?" He questioned as he set down his briefcase, and began walking around the office, the tails of his trench coat swayed as he did. "Oh I get it," he chuckled to himself, "My birthday is in a few months and they want to surprise me," he walked passed sales and towards accounting, "You know, the student becomes the teacher and all that grasshopper stuff," he waved his hand at the thought as he stopped back at reception.

"Morning Michael," Dwight greeted with a smile as he came through the doors, and stopped beside his boss who blocked his way.

"Dwight," Michael was now in a full fit of laughter and held on to the other man's shoulders, "Dwight tell me where everyone else is," his face was red and very close to Dwight's. As he moved to answer Michael erupted into a new fit, "No don't tell me, I want it to be a surprise."

Dwight arched an eyebrow, "Where is everyone?" he questioned setting his briefcase down beside Michael's as he pushed passed him, "Where are all the computers and telephones?" He evaded Jim's desk and stopped before his own, "My God."

"Dwight," Michael threw a hand over his eyes dramatically and turned away from his employee, "The telephones and computers are where they always are," he turned back and walked to stand beside Dwight, "Don't you think I would notice if," Michael stopped talking as he finally took a look at the desks.

The entire office was disheveled. Papers were thrown everywhere, one of the windows to the conference room was cracked, the door to Michael's office was hanging in place by only one hinge, and many of the desks were missing drawers and vandalized.

"Oh my God," Michael's hand came up to protect his agape mouth, "It's like a tornado of hate went through here."

Dwight hit his fisted hand against the top of his desk, "Damn it, it was probably Jim. In his sick brain this would pass as a joke." He continued to hit his desk.

"Dwight, Dwight, Dwight," Michael called Dwight's name until he desisted his punching of the desk and glanced up at him. With a strangled voice he added, "That desk has already been through enough today."

Dwight moved his eyes to the jagged letters that spelt out the word 'ass' on his desk. It was most likely done with a razorblade, "I'm sorry Michael, I'm just upset."

"I understand," Michael's voice was muttered by his hand against his mouth as he watched Dwight try and determine if there was a booby-trap on his office chair. "But if someone from the office did do this, it was probably Toby."

* * *

Michael stood leaning against the wall in his office, a position that Dwight usually held. Around him, the blinds on his window were bent and wall hangings were broken and askew, "Who would do something like this to a nice little office," he shook his head, incapable of comprehending why someone would commit such an act, "This is going to put a damper on the office, everyone is going to come back from their weekend and the first thing that happened to them was this."

As he moved away from the wall, a piece of pink chewing gum stretched from the back of his suit to the wall, "Damn it," his voice was full of anger and exhaustion even though it was only a little after nine in the morning. He shuffled his feet to turn in a circle hoping that the string of gum would rip under the pressure, but only managed to get wrapped up more.

He stopped moving once he had completed two full rotations and the clothesline still showed no sign of breaking. He looked to the camera with very sad eyes, "I guess this is why Garfield hates Mondays."

* * *

"They took everything from petty cash," Angela frowned and closed the safe back up, "Doesn't anyone have any morals anymore?"

"Oh God," Kevin cried from across the partition. He fell on his hands and knees and began to rake through the piles of defaced property underneath his desk. When he didn't find what he was looking for he shot up and announced, "They took all my M&M's. Even the ones that were still in the bag."

Angela began picking up single pieces of crumpled paper with only her index finger and thumb, "This just goes to show you how smart convicts are."

Oscar picked up his office chair and tried to set it upright, but it kept toppling over to the side, "Angela, obviously it was just angry kids." The chair toppled over once more, and he finally noticed that two of the wheels were missing.

"Oh man," Andy looked at the hole in his desk where one of the drawers once lived, "they took my Gameboy!"

* * *

"Since the second day I worked for Dunder Mifflin, I have always kept a Gameboy in my top desk drawer. I've beaten all the major titles for it," Andy linked his hands and brought them up to cushion the back of this head, "Pokémon I beat in two weeks, I was a Pokémaster. Then I got to Mario, and really didn't understand the objective of the game."

* * *

"No," Michael shook his head as he moved towards Andy. Dwight followed him, rolling in his office chair with a blunt pair of scissors still trying to cut him free of the gum. Michael placed an awkward hand on Andy's shoulder, "you're game is something that they will never be able to take," he paused for a few seconds then added, "Dawg."

"Michael," Stanley pushed all the strewn papers off his desk, "Have you called the police yet?"

"Yes, Stanley," Michael tried to place his hands on his hips, but only managed to hit Dwight in the face with his elbow, "suck it up," he muttered when Dwight held a hand over his reddening nose. Turning his attention back to Stanley he added, "And I want you to know that this wasn't a hate crime."

"I know that," Stanley shifted his eyes over to Michael and then back over to the dusty space where his computer once sat.

"Good," Michael nodded to make his answer more concrete. The incessant sound of scissors clipping could be heard, "because you know they didn't use that word once."

"What word?" Stanley questioned.

Michael swallowed hard, "you know the word."

"No Michael," Stanley leaned forward on his desk, "I do not."

Michael shook his hand, shooing Stanley, "never mind." He turned to walk away and ended up hitting Dwight in the face with this other elbow, "God, Dwight. Seriously."

Meredith pulled out a drawer and flung it to the ground, "They took my scotch," her voice held anger, but there was a tinge of sadness in it. When most of the office stilled to watch her she added, "Tape, Scotch Tape."

Michael blew a raspberry at her, "Please, there's more Scotch Tape down in the warehouse." He lifted his arms up like a child about to take off a shirt as Dwight cut the final strands away.

"Have you even been in contact with the warehouse?" Phyllis questioned as she pulled out from under her desk, "Or corporate?"

"They took the phones Phyllis," Michael's voice was hard and loud, "And Pam isn't here yet, so I can't send her down to the warehouse," he paused and added, "Or New York."

Kelly burst throw the kitchen doors, her face flush and shiny with tears, "They broke all my toys," she held up the handfuls of half BRATZ bodies, and fluffy pink picture frames broken. Sobbing she leaned against Michael, who looked uncomfortable. His nose twitched as she hiccupped and Dwight kept cutting away.

When she leaned back a string of gum attached to one of her BRATZ heads', "ew," she exclaimed softly, and walked back to lean against the wall, leaving the head to hang against Michael's body like a Christmas Tree ornament.

"Well," Creed leaned back in his office chair that had a part of the back burnt off, "They didn't touch any of my stuff.

* * *

"Oh they're lucky they didn't," Creed spoke to the camera with sincerity, "I cover everything in my desk drawers with a thin layer of poison. Anyone who touches it gets sick within twenty-four hours, but I've grown immune." His face was emotionless as he added, "Haven't you ever wondered why so many people get sick in this office?"

* * *

"Wow," Jim's eyes grew wide, his fingers playing with the strap of his bag as he rounded the corner into the office with Pam, "This can't be good."

"Oh my God, Pam," Kelly cried and flung her body at the other woman so hard she pushed her back against reception, "Pam, they went into the back and they cut up all my BRATZ dolls, even Brianna. She was my favorite. If she was a real person, I would totally be her friend."

"Who?" Pam questioned as she lightly patted her coworker's back.

"Heathens," Angela replied as she dumped a load of garbage into a can. She was wearing rubber gloves on her hands.

Michael turned around to face the couple just joining the situation; Dwight ducked this time, missing his boss' elbow slamming into his nose, "Well I'm so glad you two could join us for our turmoil."

"We are too," Jim smiled and glanced around his desk for a place to put his bag. When he found everything was sufficiently trashed, he just dropped it to the floor, "What happened?"

"Done," Dwight got up from his chair, several strands of bright pink gum grasped in his hand and a severed BRATZ head in the other.

Jim watched him with curiosity as Michael explained, "Someone broke in last night and trashed the place, they stole all the phones and the computers."

"And they beat up Dwight?" Jim questioned, looking at his desk mate's red nose.

"No that was me," Michael brushed the dust off his suit.

"Have you called the police yet?" Jim took of his coat, meaning to hang it on the back of his chair, but was perplexed when he couldn't find his chair.

"Yes I called the police," Michael replied harshly, "Why does everyone always ask me that?"

Jim sighed and gave up on trying to find a spot for his coat, "Have you checked out the warehouse yet?"

"No," crossing his arms Michael gave Jim a look of disdain and questioned childishly, "And what gives you this sudden expertise over break ins?"

"Actually," Pam spoke up from where she was trying to clear the silly string off of her desk, "My apartment got broken into last night."

"Oh my God, Pam," Kelly launched herself at the receptionist again.

Phyllis stood from being on all fours, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Pam nodded as Kelly almost strangled her. When the girl finally let go of her she added, "I just hid in my room and phoned the police."

Michael bit his trembling lower lip. His eyes were shining and almost everyone in the room rolled their eyes, "This place is recursed," he shook his head as a single tear fell.

* * *

_Next Chapter - More about both break ins is explained, like why Jim and Pam didn't think the office was broken into when they arrived. _


	2. Words

_AN: Hey guys, thanks for reviewing and favoriting. This chapter is a little more serious than others. And there's a lot of Jim, because hey, we all love Jim. The next chapter will have way more characters, a lot more.  
And just a reminder, all my stories are a series in sequential order, starting with the Thunderstorm. I'll label my next story number five somewhere._

The Break In

Chapter 2

Words

* * *

"I don't see why everyone is making such a big deal about this," Pam pulled her sweater closer together. She shifted uncomfortably on the conference room chair and behind her in the window the spider web crack could be seen. "I went home for the night. And I was in my room, reading the books for my upcoming painting class. I heard smashing so I locked my bedroom door and called the police. I didn't get hurt."

Her fingers curled around the end of her sweater sleeves as she looked off to the side, "But they got my laptop, which had all my animation homework on it."

* * *

"Umm," Jim scratched the back of his head; he was slouched down in the chair. It was obvious this wasn't a subject he wanted to talk about, "Pam called me after the police got there. I left my house and got to the station before her and ended up waiting the longest ten minutes of my life," he paused, his eyes dull, "We had a fight, and that's why she went home early, so it's kind of all my fault."

* * *

"Well the rest of the day has been set out for us," Michael's lower lip still pouted, but the tears were beginning to clear his eyes.

Phyllis glanced up from where she was peeling away layers of tape from her desk, "What do you mean?"

"What I mean, Phyllis, is that for the rest of the day, we're going to get this office back the way it was when we left it on Friday," Michael dragged his feet through the trash making a path, "Try to salvage anything, um, salvageable. But nothing that looks like someone went to the bathroom on it."

"Shouldn't the custodial staff be responsible for cleaning up?" Pam shook her hands free of silly string. Her desk was still three quarters covered in it.

Michael shook his head with disappointment, "When the going gets tough, that's what you do Pam? Abandon your family?"

"I think that saying goes, 'when the going gets tough, the tough get going'," Jim corrected; he had begun to collect various objects off his desk. Not knowing if they were wrecked or not, he shrugged and just threw them on the floor.

"No, you know what?" Michael followed his path back to the center of the office, "This horrible incident can work to bring us together, as a tighter knit family," he linked his hands for visual effect.

"Wasn't that what the thunderstorm was supposed to do?" Kelly looked confused.

"We have to do it ourselves anyways," Michael added, ignoring her as he ducked his head and moved back to his office, "the cleaning staff could be the culprits."

* * *

"Honestly," Jim glanced to the camera, his head still turned towards the wall, "When we arrived I thought that Michael was just having one of his 'I Had A Great Weekend' party. Which would've made it the seventh in the last month."

* * *

"Nice," Jim extended an arm and pointed to the word scratched into Dwight's desk.

Dwight tilted his head up from where he was sanitizing the only drawer to his desk he could find. When he saw what Jim was proud of, he scoffed, his rubber gloves squeaking against the spray bottle, "Vandalism isn't something to be in awe of." He turned his head back down and sprayed the bottle twice, "Besides, you got a word too."

"I know," Jim rolled his lips and looked back to the 'stoopid' etched into his desk, then colored with a permanent green marker, "but yours is so much better."

Dwight looked up again, the browning sponge still gripped tightly in his hand, gray bubbles popping out of it, "explain."

"Well," Jim leaned forward, getting a closer examination of the 'ass' engraved into Dwight's desk. It was colored over with a red marker, "For one yours is spelt correctly." It was.

Dwight watched him, trying to gauge whether Jim was serious or not. He continued, "And it's bigger than mine, so they obviously cared more. Have you see the penmanship, yours is so heavy and full of emotion. Like the planned it. Mine looks like they forgot my desk on the way out."

On his knees now, Dwight was comparing the two defacements. Nodding in agreement, he added, "I can see where mine has an artistic placement."

"You know what the best thing about it is?" Jim leaned his elbows on his desk and rested his head on his hands, "They could categorize you as so many different asses." Before Dwight could spew a defensive speech, Jim continued, "I mean you could be a dumbass or a jackass, or an asshole. How many different kinds of stoopid can I be?" He dragged out the word 'stoopid'.

Dwight grinned, flashing his teeth, and nodded in agreement.

* * *

"Jim feels inadequate after the vandal wrote stupid on this desk, or a variation of said word," Dwight still wore yellow rubber gloves that let out a squeak as they rubbed together, "Ass on the other hand, is the name of a magnificent animal of burden. I take it as a compliment."

* * *

Kevin held an armful of papers and folders. He moved precariously towards the large trash bin situated by accounting and let all the recyclables flutter out of his arms and into the bin.

"Kevin," Angela held an accusing glare, "Are you sure all of those are garbage?"

He sent a half lidded glance to her, "Yes I'm sure."

"I don't want to have to go through the garbage after I've already had to do it once," her statement was simple and she didn't give him another look as she began another pile.

Oscar stood, staring at his chair that was toppled over on its side again, "It's broken, but do I throw it out? Because what if we find the wheels?"

Pam watched Oscar's dilemma and sighed. Rolling the last ball of silly string off her hand and into the trash she could finally get start on trying to reconstruct her desk. Moving back to her desk, she found that most of her things were broken, files and papers thrown around, much like everyone else's desks. It would take some time.

"Hey," Jim greeted as he crouched into the area between her chair which was missing an arm, and her desk. "Did they write anything on your desk?"

"You mean like phone numbers or home addresses?" She turned in the chair and sent him a flashy grin.

He chuckled, "I was talking more about names and hurtful adjectives."

"Hmm," she turned her attention back to her desk, scoping the expanse of it in search of defacement and found nothing. "Nope, they just cocooned it in silly string."

"Tragic," Jim pursed his lips and shook his head, "You should not have been spared their literary excellence."

"Oh really?" she turned to face him again; "They were that good?"

"If you call spelling stupid with two 'O's good," he retorted and they both burst out into laughter.

"Modern day Hemmingways," she began to gather bits of the shredded paper lining her desk like a hamster cage.

He smiled, but remained behind her as she continued to clean off her desk, "Hey, you didn't get a phone call yet, did you?"

Pam's mouth fell open as she turned around and swatted him in the shoulder with the back of her hand, "Is that why you've been chatting me up?"

"I don't think talking about obscenities carved into our desks constitutes as 'chatting you up'," One of his hands were on the back of her chair, the other one rested at a spot cleared on her desk. He sent her a lopsided grin.

She just stared at him, her mouth pursed but still happy.

* * *

"Pam and I are expecting a very important phone call from the doctor's office today," Jim sat in the hot chair once again, although in this interview he was evidently more cheerful. "They said they would phone us with the results of her blood test today," he paused his face growing bright and beaming, "to tell us if she is pregnant. I figure you guys already knew, and since we don't want to tell anyone in the office, I have to talk to someone about it."

Still grinning vibrantly, he tried to calm himself down, "We already know if she's pregnant or not. I mean those tests, they're just protocol. Her doctor made us do them before he would schedule an ultrasound." He stopped talking, but didn't stop smiling.

* * *

_Coming up - We get a visit from Darryl and find out the warehouse is in worse shape than the office. _


	3. Jellybeans

_Thank you for all the favorites/reviews/alerts. Sorry for not updating, I had to create a creative writing portfolio for a class and it took a pretty long time. That and essays galore. It's so fun when you get to write an essay, about an essay that's topic is essays._

The Break In

Chapter 3

Jellybeans

* * *

"It's obvious that whoever committed this heinous crime is someone who lacks the basic level of intelligence," Dwight's fingers moved up to adjust his Sherriff's hat, they twitched when he realized he no longer had it, "They did take the three hundred dollars from petty cash, but they neglected my ninja stars, hidden deep within my bottom drawer."

His face grew excited, "I've found one among the wreckage, but had a lapse of judgment and touched it with my bare hands. If I find the other one untainted, I may be able to convict these culprits on the finger prints."

* * *

"Alright, so I'm done cleaning up my desk," Jim leaned against the front of reception. Almost two hours had passed and people were still cleaning, he along with Kevin were the first to finish. "And I've taken the liberty to call the police again."

"Oh," Pam sounded impressed as she used the back of a post-it-note to pick up small shreds of paper that must have rained from the overturned shredder container that was found in the bathroom, "going over Michael's head?"

He shrugged, "I am taller," he sent her a smile as his hand roamed over the top of the desk, "Apparently the way Michael described what happened, the police thought he was a toddler."

"Oh my God," Pam's mouth was open and laughing, "You're kidding."

Jim shook his head, stifling his own laughter, "Not even close. They told me Michael used the term, 'bad guy' among other things."

"Wow," she shook her head, trying to fight the laughter that bubbled inside her, "I don't even know what to say."

"I also managed to get into contact with Ryan, who thought that this was a prank Michael had put me up to. It took me calling him back twice, for him to get it," Jim stood up straight, his fingers drumming against her desk, "Where's your jellybean container?"

She stood as well, making the small trek to the garbage can with a pile of rubbish to toss, "I haven't found it yet," she glanced over her shoulder, "I'll probably have to buy a new one."

"That's a shame, that candy dispenser had so much history," he followed her to the bin with some of her garbage. She grinned at him gratefully. "So I've been on the phone a lot this morning," he told her, trying hard to keep up his cool façade. When she didn't answer he wiped his hands on his jacket and turned to her, "Have you gotten any phone calls?"

"They took everyone's phones Jim. Remember?" Pam questioned, a challenging wiggle moving to her eyebrows.

He made a face and followed her back to her desk, "You know what I what I mean."

"It's almost eleven, the doctor's office probably just opened, not to mention the lab. They'll probably phone late in the day," her statement was simple and she looked calm as she sorted through a fistful papers.

He pressed his lips together tightly and watched her for a moment, when she didn't give him a second glance he spoke, "How can you be so calm?"

Jim's voice was louder than usual and it lured Michael from behind the closed door of his office. The man walked directly towards Jim and gave him an open armed embrace and spoke muffled against Jim's shoulder, "I know Jim, I know."

As his boss continued to hug him, Jim's eyes grew wider, staring at Pam. "How could they do this to us?" Michael questioned sobbing now, "I never hurt anyone," he pulled away and swiped at his nose, "Well except Meredith and she doesn't count."

"Michael, have you even finished cleaning your office yet?" Angela placed her hands on her hips, the rubber gloves large on her.

He shook his head, clearing the last tear from his face, "I haven't even started."

"What have you been doing?" Phyllis scrubbed at the last mark on her desk. Other than wiping all the moustaches off her family photos, she was almost done.

"I've been trying to figure out who did this to us, and all I could come up with was Toby," he appeared distraught.

"Why would Toby trash everything?" Andy wondered as he leaned back in his chair. It wasn't exactly his chair, but it's not like Kevin was going to notice anytime soon.

"Because he's a maniac," Michael yelled. Most of the office personal had already returned to cleaning up, "And not the good kind like the Animaniacs or the girl from Flash Dance."

Pam leaned over her desk, and tugged lightly on Jim's sleeve, "Just try to take your mind off it," she gave him a nervous smile that told him she was generally feeling the same way as him, "Try to find the Jellybean holder."

"That's right," Michael threw out his arms, his voice loud and bouncing off the wall. His emotions balanced somewhere between anger, and on the brink of breaking down completely. "Everyone try to find your Jellybean holder. And then you put in all the good Jellybeans in your life. Your family, you friends, you job—"

"My job is not going in there," Stanley muttered as he tried to paste back together the spine of his crossword puzzle book.

"And your good grades from school, and you first car," Michael paused and choked back a sob, "that was a Sebring, and sometimes you cry at night because you named him Kitt and dreamed of solving crimes with him."

Jim's eyes grew wide as he turned away from his still rambling boss and back to his girlfriend. Angela rolled her eyes and continued to return her cards into her rolodex. Kevin came out of the kitchen with something shoved in the side of his mouth, and looked at his boss without surprise. Everyone seemed to be getting uncomfortable with Michael's tangent.

"And your future kids, all five of them," he stopped, sniffled and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. "And then you put the bad Jellybeans, the black ones," He turned to the man still trying to repair his crosswords, "No offense Stanley. And you stick them into the bottom. And you ignore them. And you let them go bad. And then you finally throw them out."

Jim crossed his arms as he leaned with his back against Pam's desk, he couldn't resist the urge to egg Michael on, "What are the black Jellybeans."

"Debt," Michael answered immediately, his head nodding with his own answer, "And Toby."

"Michael," Pam didn't even bother to look up from the second handful of papers she was sorting through, "Where does Jan fit?"

"She's somewhere between the good Jellybeans and the black ones. She can be those orange ones that are good in small doses."

(X)

Oscar stared with his eyes half closed in irritation, "Somehow Michael took Pam's missing Jellybean container and turned it into a story about his life."

* * *

"I thought it was very informative," Jim nodded, a smile spreading on his lips, "I bet he misses Kitt the most at holidays."

* * *

"I miss my Pam's Jellybeans. I bet Jim misses Pam's Jellybeans," Kevin nodded his head slowly. He paused for a few seconds and added, "And because I think of Jellybeans I think of M&Ms. I miss my M&Ms.

* * *

"Yo Mike!" Darryl pushed through the doors, "Man, Where have you been? I have been trying to call for the last two hours."

Michael turned away from Darryl and quickly composed himself, "Hey," he stopped and tried to think of a nickname, "Man."

"What happened to all the phones and computers?" Darryl had his hands on his hips and was surveying the room, "Did you guys get hit too? The warehouse is a mess," he paused and looked at Michael, "Mike, are you crying?"

"No," he shook his head and glanced up at some of the missing ceiling boards, "it's just the asbestos, getting in my eyes."

Everyone glanced to the ceiling. "I thought we had that looked at?" Andy questioned, his head was sticking out from underneath his desk, eyes scanning above.

Creed's glasses slid off his face, "Asbestos is hereditary."

"At least your place didn't get hit as hard as the warehouse," Darryl ignored the eccentric old man's comments, "The police are down there right now viewing the crime scene."

"The popo," Michael shouted and slapped Darryl in the arm, "that must be why you're up here right? Well get Lonny, and then you and Stanley and him can go hide in the back and write a diary about the fear."

"That was Anne Frank," Pam shook her head in disappointment at Michael's warped mind.

"She died Michael," Phyllis added.

"And through her diary people found out what the Second World War was like through the eyes of the innocent," Oscar finished, three wheels in his right hand.

"Alright, God," Michael moaned.

"Anyway," Darryl was obviously getting uncomfortable spending too much time in the office, "The police are going to want to investigate up here, so don't touch anything."

Kevin's mouth hung open as he looked around at the room that would be back to normal in less than fifteen minutes, "But we already cleaned up."

Darryl looked to Michael who made now action to disprove the statement. He groaned and he ran his hand over his face, "What is wrong with you man?"

* * *

"I act on my first instinct okay," Michael was sitting against the front of his desk. Beside him was his trash can was turned upside down, and broken remains of the chattering teeth. "When you see something dirty, your first instinct is to clean it."

His train whistle was beside his foot, but almost broken in half with something brown smudged along the side of it, "Like when you see fire. Your first instinct is to roast marshmallows. "

* * *

"They're not going to be able to get any prints of all of this stuff," Darryl shook his head, "They won't be able to see if it was even the same people."

"Alright, well someone watches too much CSI," Michael crossed his arms and chuckled, but stopped when Darryl didn't crack a smile.

Dwight shot up from where he was still cleaning, "Do not worry Michael, I just have to find my second ninja star. It will be unscathed, and the prints will be usable."

"Oh," Jim moved forward and reached into the back of his pocket, "I found this Dwight," he pulled out the shining weapon and handed it to his desk mate.

Dwight threw down his yellow rubber gloves, "Damn it Jim!"

"Alright enough," Michael sighed and swayed around in a small circle, "Let's just go downstairs and meet the police, they can always use my office for evidence." Darryl was already out the door as Michael moved to follow, "I guess I wasn't being lazy after all, was I?"

Slowly the populace of the office filed out and down the stairs to the warehouse. Jim gave a tight lipped smile to Pam, who just shook her head in amazement, throwing out one last pile of garbage as she and Jim waited for the rush of bodies to pass before heading to the door

"I definitely foresee someone here getting arrested today," Jim announced as he held the door open for Pam.

Pam took a deep intake of breath, "If Michael was going to be arrested for something, they would've done it already," she craned her head and smiled at him before walking through the threshold.

"You just wait," Jim's face grew playful, "Because it's not the only thing I'm—"

He stopped short of finishing his sentence as the ringing of Pam's cell phone interrupted him.

* * *

_Coming up - Dwight finds out just how smart the perps really were_


	4. Police State

_Hey guys, sorry for not updating for awhile. Just couldn't write.  
Anyways, here's the next chapter and I hope to update this story more frequently. I belive there's only going to be one or two chapters left to this story, but I have another one ready to write after it.  
Oh and I mean no offense to any people. I just wrote Michael like Michael is. So if any offense is taken from his comments I apologize. _

The Break-In

Chapter 4

Police State

Jim watched as Pam flipped open her phone. His fingers were twitching at his side and he could barely stand still as she answered it.

"Hello?" she questioned into the phone, her eyes darting away from his. He reached out and grabbed her hand, holding it tightly in his grasp. A small smile came to her face, her eyes meeting his as she spoke into the phone, "Hi Grandma."

Jim sighed and let his head fall in disappointment as Pam continued the conversation, "No I'm not in Norway. No. No, Nana, that was Uncle Dave. Yep, Uncle Dave went to Norway fifteen years ago."

* * *

"My Grandma is getting old," Pam paused and rethought her sentence, "Well she's already old, she getting older. And sometimes after my mom tells her something happens to one of us, like this time with the break in, she'll phone with all the wrong facts."

Pam sighed and nodded silently, "My Uncle Dave has been dead for nine years."

* * *

"No Grandma," Pam was now setting on Jim's desk as he watched her, clearly amused, "New York wasn't invaded by the Dutch. It was a movie and the man was trapped in the airport."

Jim crossed his arms over his chest and spoke freely, "Oh Judy."

"Yeah that was Jim," Pam furrowed her eyebrows and answered her Grandma. He glanced up with a confused expression, "Yeah he can talk."

She held her hand over the speaker of the phone and reached forward to hand it to him, "She wants to talk to you."

"What?" Jim whispered but it came out harsh, "Why?"

"I don't know," Pam whispered back, trying very hard to keep the laughter out of her voice, "Just," she pushed the phone against Jim's hand, "thrill her."

"You want me to thrill your Grandma?" he leaned back in his chair and sent her an awkward glance.

She rolled her eyes as he took the phone from her, "Hey Judy," he greeted into the phone, "How's it going? I—" he bit his lower lip and looked up to Pam, "I hadn't heard that."

* * *

"I met Pam's Grandma at Thanksgiving this year," Jim smiled into the camera and leaned to rest against the chair, "it was last weekend, and right before we left we got a phone call from the lab saying they mixed up Pam's blood test and she had to do another, so we had to wait longer to find out." He sighed into his hand directing his eyes to the floor for a second, "That mixed with not being able to tell anyone why Pam had to excuse herself from every toast was a pretty nerve wracking. So I spent most of the time talking to Judy," he stopped and squinted his eyes, "Who doesn't remember her own son died, but knows my name, and my home number."

* * *

"Wow look at this place," Michael shook his head as he peered over the edge of the stairs, "God I'd hate to be the person who has to deal with all that." From behind him Angela shook her head.

"Man," Kevin shook his head slowly as he walked down the stairs, "it looks even worse than the time Michael drove the forklift."

"Damn it Kevin," Michael shouted angrily from a few feet ahead.

A few feet away Creed moved his foot lightly sifting through the debris. Something caught his eyes and in one swift movement he bent over and grabbed it, placing it inside his suit pocket.

Everyone began filing through the warehouse which looked exceedingly worse than the office. Out of all the shelves only one remained standing, Darryl's office window was smashed, and all the contents of it were thrown randomly around the warehouse.

"That's him," Lonny who was talking to a police officer, pointed out Michael who was kicking around pieces of the wreckage. The officer nodded and closed his notepad, taking off towards Michael.

"Hey," Michael shouted and pointed to a pile of Styrofoam scattered around the large industrial fan, "See I'm not the only one who did it."

"Michael Scott?" The officer questioned as he approached.

"Ah," Michael smiled widely, "That is me," he reached forward and shook the officers hand.

"I just have a few questions to ask you?" He reopened his notepad and glanced up a Michael for a response.

Michael laughed, "Only if I can ask you a few questions. Like why are cops called pigs? Is it the doughnuts? Because I've never seen a pig eat doughnuts before and I've been on a farm, like three times."

The cop's eyes were half closed in an angry glare as Michael finished one of his farm stories.

"Oh, are the people who did this the same ones who get Pam's place? Because I didn't see her apartment, but something tells me that if they didn't even get to her bedroom, which is hello, where the payload is, then these guys had more brains."

"Look Mr. Scott," The officer broke Michael's monologue before he could add more to it, "These break-ins have been happening all around the Scranton area, we don't know as of yet if it is a single group of people, or just random acts of violence but that is besides the point."

"Yeah I know right," Michael crossed his arms and leaned in closer to the officer, "Like who cares who did it right? As long as they're caught."

As Michael burst into another batch of giggles the officer shook his head, "Mr. Scott I have several reports that on more than one occasion you, yourself have defiled this warehouse. Now I'm going to need to know where you were at approximately ten o'clock last night."

Michael stopped laughing as his eyes grew wide, "I don't know who told you that I've unfiled this warehouse before but I can assure you sir that—" he stopped talking as he looked passed the officer and saw Lonny and Madge staring at him.

"Really it was them? You're going to believe them? Come on I mean look at Lonny, he's got breaking and entering written all over him. And Patch," he paused for a second to rethink his words. "Well, yeah I guess Patch wouldn't do to well in the breaking and entering business, " Michael let his arms curve out to his sides for emphasis, "It wouldn't be a quiet riot if you know what I mean."

"Mr. Scott, that doesn't—"

"Hey," Dwight moved next to the officer interviewing Michael, "great to see some familiar uniforms on the job," he moved his hand up so the officer could high-five him.

"I don't know what you mean, and if you don't mind I'm conducting an interview here." The officer turned away from Dwight and back to Michael.

The smile vanished from Dwight's face as he lowered his hand, "This is all futile, if you wanted to see which heinous character committed this crime just look at the video cameras."

"Sir, the video cameras were stolen as well," the officer jotted a few things down then glanced back to Michael who looked extremely uncomfortable as Dwight gasped.

* * *

"Obviously these are the most masterminded criminals in the entire history of crimes," Dwight's words were animated as he moved forward in his chair, "I mean come on stealing computers and telephones, any blue-collar machine operator can do that. But to steal the cameras that record it all," he paused and shook his head, "if this miscreant is caught, he should be committed to Arkham Asylum."

* * *

"Did you guys get a shot of that cop interrogating me?" Michael questioned from before the rows of fallen shelving units, "What was up with that? I've never disrupted this warehouse. What I do, is to drag the ragtag group of warehouse misfits out of the normalacy of everyday work so they have something out of the ordinary happen. I mean how often does it snow inside the warehouse?"

Michael swallowed hard and shook his head looking at an unmarked spot off to the side, "I mean I thought cops were all cool. You know you see so many cool cop movies like Police Academy and Robocop and The Terminator and you think that all cops are just these big loveable guys who have funny accents or make cool sound effects, but they're not."

He shook his head and crossed his arms tighter around his chest, "Some of them, a lot of them, are dirty. For a minute there I felt like I was Rodney Dangerfield," he paused a moment as he regained his composure, "And there isn't even any video cameras here to capture it."

* * *

"Wow," Jim scanned the area of the warehouse as he and Pam walked slowly down the stairs, "This place looks awful."

"Jim," Michael rushed over to him once he reached the concrete loading area, "You have to help me. The cops think that I did this and I didn't."

"Well I don't know that for sure Michael," Jim joked as he crossed his arms over his chest to mimic Michael.

Michael shook his head as Dwight approached the group, "They're going to try to get me away from the cameras so that they can beat me."

Jim bit his lower lip, "No, I don't think that's going to happen."

"False, Jim," Dwight interjected also crossing his arms, "In the past several years police brutality has been at an all time high."

Jim lowered his voice, "Is that why you were a Volunteer Sheriff's Deputy?"

"Damn it Jim," Dwight's teeth were clenched, "This is not a game, many people suffer from this malice each year."

"How many of them were white middle-aged business men?"

Dwight was quiet for a moment, "That's an unfair question when taking in all the accounts that weren't publiczed do to—"

"Blah blah blah," Michael threw back his head and moaned, "We just need to get the police out of here."

"How do we do that?" Jim placed his hand in front of his mouth to hide his grin.

Michael sighed, "I don't know, go run across the street and pull the fire alarm or something."

"That would make the fire department come here," Jim informed.

"I'm tired of thinking up all the ideas," Michael complained.

"Why don't we just go talk to the security guard," Pam suggested from where she was situated a few feet behind them, kicking her way through toppled objects.

"We have a security guard?" Michael asked.

* * *

_Coming up-_ _the security guard and the phonecall _


	5. Indecent Proposal

_A/N - Sorry for the hiatus. I mean if the paid writers get to take one, I should be able to too. I currently am writing fics for four different fandoms, plus school work, plus original fics. So please no whammies. This like all chapters of my Office fics is all talk. So not much description. Sorry if it doesn't float your boat. Please excuse errors and any kind of format errors, I'm not savvy in the ways of the new . And as always enjoy!  
_

The Break In

Chapter 2

Indecent Proposal

"I told you, for the last time, that my shift ends at ten," Hank the security guard sat with his back straight in the old office chair designated to his security station. "So when stuff happens between then and nine the next morning, it ain't my business."

"Actually it is your business, as you were given the job title of 'Security Guard'," Dwight's knuckles turned white as he leaned over the edge of the desk and into Hank's personal space, "You're job is guard our security."

"My job is to do so during the hours of nine in the morning until ten at night," Hank's voice was level, but held a certain edge. "If you wanted a night guard, the fellow who watches over Vance Refrigeration and a couple of the other companies asked if you wanted to chip in for his services. He even offered a discounted rate."

"Michael," Pam had her arms crossed over her chest and an incredulous expression on her face, "Why didn't you just pay that guy?"

"I don't know," Michael hissed, his face scrunched with the action, "I don't even remember hearing about this indecent proposal."

"This was a decent proposal," Jim corrected from where he was leaning against the stucco wall, "Indecent Proposal is a movie."

Michael's front teeth bit into his bottom lip as he was lost in thought for a moment, "Oh is that the one where that blonde chick is getting interviewed by police," he furrowed his brow, "what's her name."

"Charlize Theron?" Dwight posed as he moved away from Hank. When Michael didn't answer he continued, "Michelle Pfeiffer? Sarah Michelle Geller? Rebecca Romijn? Helen Hunt? Alicia Silverstone? Tina Yothers? Jessica Beal?"

"The girl from Flashdance?" Michael let out disgusted moan, "Dwight, you idiot, she's not blonde. She can't be blonde, she's ethnic."

Dwight shrugged, "Jessica Alba was blonde as Sue Reeds the Invisible Girl in the Fantastic Four."

"Oh, you're such a nerd," Michael shook his head as he turned his back to Hank who glanced to Jim with confusion.

"Is it Danny Glover?" Jim suggested with mock enthusiasm.

"Dani," Michael mulled on the name as his tapped his chin with his index finger, "Dani does sound like a hot girl name."

"Or a brother –in-laws name," Jim added as he moved closer towards Pam.

Hank stood from behind the desk, "I believe you're thinking of Sharon Stone and that was not from Indecent Proposal, that was from Basic Instinct," He glared at Michael, then Dwight, "now do you have any further questions because if not could you clear out so I can get back to work?"

Michael shook his head, "Now you want to work."

"I have one more question for our friend Hank here," Dwight turned his attention back to the guard who was slowly losing his patience. He leaned forward over the edge of the desk once again, "Why did you do it?"

Hank met the small amount of distance between himself and Dwight, "Why did I do what?"

"Desecrate the office in the way you did?" Dwight's voice became dangerously low as his eyes closed into mere slits.

Sensing an altercation, Jim shook his head and stepped away from Pam, "Hey Dwight," he quickly spoke before Hank could reply, "Aren't you a Security Advisor."

Dwight took a compensating step back, he watched Jim for a second trying to gauge what his coworker was trying to spring on him. Reluctantly he answered, "Yes." The word was prolonged.

"He's an Honorary Security Advisor," the security guard corrected in a reproachful voice as he pointed to the salesman, "It was just given to him out of pity."

"Pity title or not," Jim pointed to Dwight with false indignation, "Dwight should have been here protecting us."

Michael crossed his arms and bit his lower lip, "How dare you Dwight. How dare you leave us open for an STD."

"STD?" Jim managed to choke out as he muffled his laughter along with Pam.

* * *

"Serial Thievery Danger," Michael glanced out the windows to the parking lot with an almost pensive look on his face, "You know, using acronyms for everything is a great way to pass the time. It's really creative; I bet my imagination is like a bright bouncy ball. It's fun to look at and amuses young children."

After another few moments of brooding he divulged with a laugh, "Boy, I'm really glad we didn't contract an STD on R.A.P.I.S.T. Day."

* * *

"You know what," Michal spread his arms, his voice rising to its usual offended tone, "This is not funny, and I don't know why you guys seem to think this is a laugh factory when it's really a Boulevard of Broken Dreams."

"Michael" Jim sighed and covered his eyes with a hand, "We've done everything we could. You should just send us home for the rest of the day so we can start clean tomorrow."

"You send them home early every other day," Hank muttered as he sat back into his squeaky chair and leaned unimpressed with his head on his hand.

"No, no one is going home until someone admits that they know who did this," pausing, Michael glanced to Dwight who gave him a thumbs up, then to his receptionist, "Wow, except Pam. You look terrible."

Jim turned and in one step was back beside his girlfriend, his face etched with concern as one of his large hands rested on her forearm, "Are you okay?"

She shook her head with a rueful smile, "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Well why don't you go home," Michael suggested before realizing what had happened last night, "Oh I forgot, you don't have a home," a laugh broke free which sound more like he was blowing a raspberry, "you're an orphan." Michael laughed a little harder, his face growing red with his hearty chuckles, "You're Little Orphan Annie."

"Come sit down," Jim ignored his boss's childish outburst as he directed Pam to a nearby worn armchair.

Michael who was now bent over holding the top of his legs in order to keep from falling over managed to get, "You're Little Orphan Pammie," out in between gasps for air.

"Yeah," Dwight pointed at her while giving a little jump, "You have no parents."

Hank, who had turned on a small black and white TV concealed in the corner of his desk muttered, "How do you guys even drive yourselves to work in the morning."

* * *

"I feel really guilty about what happened to Pam last night," Jim was leaning into his hand, four fingers brushing his bottom lip as he spoke, "I could've been there to scare off whoever is doing this." He dropped his hand, "I mean I'm not a scary guy but I'm tall and if you don't know I'm clumsy then it can be really intimidating."

* * *

"Michael, if you're not going to send us home, then what do you want us to do for the rest of the day?"

A devious grin crossed Michael's face, "If the heat ain't gonna do their job, then we's just gonna have to do it for them."

"You're not going to bring out Prison Mike are you," Pam looked almost afraid.

"Prison Mike?" Jim smiled down to her.

Pam shook her head, "Later. Much later."

"No, we're going to have a lockdown. No one in and no one out until we find out what the hizz-el is going on here," With his arms akimbo Michael stood in the middle of the room looking quite pleased with himself. "No communication with the outside world until this capered is uncapered. "

* * *

"You know I was afraid it was going to be something dangerous," Jim divulged, "But it was just stupid, so no harm done," he paused, "Yet."

* * *

"You know, I've got an idea," Hank spoke up from behind the desk, "Why don't you go and sell paper and let the real police work this out."

"Learn how to do your own job before you tell us how to do ours," Dwight hissed as he took a stance that he might jump at the guard.

"Yeah Michael," Pam stood from the chair, "You can't keep us all here."

"Yes I can Pamela," his reply was childish; "I'm making a citizen's arrest."

Jim raised an eyebrow, "Of everyone in the building?"

"I'm the boss," he stomped a foot down for emphasis on his authority.

Dwight vigorously nodded, "That's right Jim, Michael can do whatever he wants in here."

"What about the police," Pam reminded, "He can't keep them here."

"Pam," Michael sighed, "They weren't at the original crime scene."

"Neither was I."

"Dwight did it," Jim pointed to his colleague.

"False Jim," he shook his head and sneered with cockiness, "I was out getting drunk with my paintball team; we had to move the game this week."

Jim crossed his arms in mock offense, "Then how do you know what you did when you were drunk."

"I—" The salesman paused to rethink the events of last night. His eyes grew wide as he shrunk to the side.

"Michael, you can't turn this into a witch hunt," Pam stood, obviously growing tired with the man's antics.

"Witches are female Pam," he approached Pam much like a prosecutor approaches a witness in the court of law, "A girl didn't do this, so we're obviously looking for a warlock," he placed his index finger on his lips in thought, "Or a group of them."

"Now you're looking for magical beings?" Hank asked as he faded in and out to the conversation taking place before him.

"Watch out for gremlins," Jim cautioned.

"No you know what? We're in lockdown mode right now. So instead of high spirits and fun you get intense questioning and lockdownedness"

"You can't put them in water or feed them after midnight."

Before Michael could reply, a muffled jingle danced around the room. Pam reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone but not before sending Jim a nervous glance. "Hello?"

In an instant Michael's hand reached out and repossessed the phone. A deafening beep echoed through the room as he turned it off and flipped it shut, "No outside communication Pam."

* * *

_Next Chapter_ - _I think I can wrap it up there, but we'll see._

And you know to R&R because you took the time to read this, I took the time to write it, so take a few more seconds to give me a little confidence boost. 


	6. Ghetto Superstar

_A/N - Sorry for the long hiatus. Hopefully I'll get this story finished off in the next week. The next chapter should be the last. I also apologize for any tense/grammatical errors. I'm currently working on another story which is present tense and it's hard to shuffle between the two without little screw-ups. _

The Break In

Chapter 6

Ghetto Superstar

"Honestly, how much longer can he keep us?" Angela broke the silence and her calm demeanor began to crack, "it's almost four o'clock and I have to go home early to be an unbiased mediator between Buttons and Bandit."

"Your cats need a mediator?" Kelly continued to twirl a piece of her hair while she chomped loudly on a piece of gum that was six hours old.

Angela vigorously nodded, the ennui fading from her face, "Bandit has been vying for Button's position as head of the pride."

"I'm pretty sure you can't have a pride of cats," Oscar corrected as he rolled up the end of his tie again and allowed it to fall.

"And what would you know about pride?" Angela's eyebrows knitted as she posed the challenge.

"He knows about gay pride," Kevin added and then laughed at his own joke.

"Oh my God, so you have a cat version of America's Next Top Model?" Kelly questioned.

"Enough," Dwight stood to silence the room, "Michael has requested that we remain silent, and since we are all his subordinates I suggest we do what is asked of us." He pulled at his slacks and sat back into his chair, "And a group of cats is called a clutter."

* * *

"We have clutters of barn cats," Dwight deadpanned, "At least over fifty running all over the property."

With a smile he added, "Cats are clean, independent and have a surprising affinity for beets. They also keep out all types of rodents."

"But they've also carved some sort of structured civilization, so every Wednesday I go into the barn and shoot one of them, just so they know who the higher life form is."

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Jim muttered his hand half blocking his mouth. He rose and sent a glance to Pam, who has finally lost her fight with sleep. A small smile crept to his face as he crossed the room intent on retrieving her phone.

"Sit down Jim," Dwight commanded as he sprang from his seat, "If you do not sit down right now, I will be forced to tell Michael of your movement and suggest you be properly reprimanded."

Jim didn't acknowledge his desk mate as he walked past him and easily out of the conference room. "You're only a martyr Jim," Dwight called after him.

* * *

"Since that day we had to stay overnight," Stanley's eyes were half-closed in fatigue and irritation as he bent over and pulled a cardboard box with 'Dunder-Mifflin' printed on the side. He dumped the box in front of him, allowing more than two dozen crossword books to fall to the floor, "I'm always prepared."

* * *

"I'm not that worried," Phyllis's voice was calm as she sat poised in the conference room, "If I'm not at the car by five after five, Bobby starts to get worried."

Her voice dropped as she added, "And Michael knows that Bobby doesn't like him."

* * *

"I miss my Gameboy," Andy cried.

* * *

"No, I don't mind staying here," Creed relaxed his head on his shoulder as he leaned back into the chair, "I sleep here most nights anyway."

With wider eyes he added, "What's getting me is all the other people," he paused, "I'm going to start to charge rent."

* * *

"Michael," Jim called while descending the warehouse stairs. Michael sat on a stool, his hands clasped together in his lap and a uniformed officer standing on each side of him. He looked like a kid who just got sent to the principal's office for the first time. As Jim approached he began to negotiate, "Michael, this is crazy, why are—"

"I'm sorry," An Officer taller than Jim stepped before Michael, his arms crossed over his broad chest and sunglasses blocked his eyes, "Mr. Scott is not allowed to talk to anyone at the moment."

"What?" Jim chanced a glance to Michael, who looked like a deer caught in headlights, "Look, whatever he did, it was probably an accident."

The Officer didn't even flex a muscle, "He's under investigation for the breaking and entering of this building, theft and assaulting an officer."

"He hit you?"

"He called me a Ghetto Superstar."

Jim bit his lip and kept a serious expression on his face to fight the laughter he could feel building in his chest, "He's just like that, he's obviously intimidated by you and the only way he knows how to deal with that is by giving you an inappropriate nickname."

"Fat Halpert's telling the truth," Michael voiced, still invisible behind the behemoth officer.

The Officer arched a thick eyebrow at Jim who replied, "And I don't think he'd vandalize the office, he loves it too much. My girlfriend's apartment was vandalized the same way yesterday and he wouldn't do anything to hurt her."

"Little orphan Pammie," Michael chuckled.

"Was there anything else you needed?" The Officer seemed unmoved by Jim's logic and hooked a finger in his belt.

Jim turned to leave, but stopped short, "Actually," he paused and squinted his eyes in thought, "This is going to sound really bad, but Michael took my girlfriend's phone before he forced us all in the conference room and she really needs it."

"The entire office staff is still here?"

"Yeah," Jim jutted a thumb behind him, "In the conference room, but I really need her phone--"

The Officer turned away, his hand now on the butt of his gun as he reached for something. A second later he tossed Jim the cell phone, "Take the phone and tell everyone to get the hell out of here, they're incriminating a crime scene."

"Discrimination is a dirty word," Michael replied.

The Officer turned and pointed a long thick finger at Michael, "That's enough out of you."

"I'm sorry I hurt your feels," Michael's voice sounded sincere but when the Officer turned around again he mouthed 'get me a nail file' to Jim.

* * *

"Things got a bit heated," Michael was laughing and back in his ransacked office and leaning against his still filthy desk. "Some things were said that shouldn't have been said, like me calling him a Ghetto Superstar and him telling me to shut up," he paused for reflection, "he's no superstar."

"But," mirthful again, Michael continued his rambling, "They tried to take me down, but what they didn't expect was that this old dog is a young buck and I came at them with both fists swinging. No fuzz is going to tell me what—"

"Out of the room now Scott," The Officer blocked the doorway, his hands on his hips and his sunglasses still on, "You've taken long enough to get your stuff."

"But it's all mine."

"Now."

"Okay, Jeez," Michael pushed away from the desk and grabbed the handle of his briefcase as he moved to exit the room he came close the camera and mumbled, "I'd make fun of him for the glasses, but I think he's like that guy from the Z-men."

* * *

_Next Chapter - Sweet freedom and the phonecall is answered. _


End file.
